


Melissophobia

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M, I answer prompts, this one's just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Caryl, Oneshot.  Season 5ish (early Alexandria) ZA.  Melissophobia is the fear of bees or of being stung by bees.  It is a fairly common phobia, and Daryl was just about to find out how common it really was.  Rated for language and suggestion.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Kudos: 26





	Melissophobia

AN: Here’s a little one shot that was based on a Tumblr prompt. It’s meant to be fun.

I own nothing from The Walking Dead. 

I did kind of laugh at the name of the phobia, just because we know that Melissa plays Carol.

I hope you enjoy the story! Let me know what you think! 

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl knew that everybody had fears. It was part of being human. They were all afraid. Some fears were rational, and some fears were irrational, but rationality didn’t really matter to someone who was completely consumed by their fear.

Daryl had seen Carol withstand a lot of abuse even since he’d known her, and he already knew the kind of treatment she’d been subjected to at the hands of her ex-husband. That was why, when the bee stung her, he recognized her reaction as exactly what it was—the manifestation of a phobia.

The asshole bee in question, gone off to die somewhere without his stinger and whatever body parts were theoretically connected to the stinger, had struck just outside their house in Alexandria. Daryl had been sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette. Carol had been talking to him, keeping him company in her own way, while she walked around the house and picked the dead blooms off of the few flowers that were fighting for their lives—long left untended—around the house.

She never fucked with the bee. She never even swatted at it. As far as Daryl could tell, she never even realized that the bee and several of his buzzing buddies were even in the vicinity. If she had, Daryl thought she might have avoided the area a bit more.

All of the bee’s buddies had flown the coop and left him to die when he’d struck.

“Ow!” 

Carol’s first reaction had been the same as most anyone’s reasonable reaction when being stung by something. Her loud declaration of discomfort immediately had Daryl’s attention, and he stood up from where he was to see if he could get a better look at what had bothered her. She reached down toward her leg.

“Ow…ow!” She repeated.

At that moment, Daryl know if she was reiterating that whatever had hurt her continued to smart, or if she was continuously being attacked by something.

“What’s wrong?” Daryl asked, taking the steps two-by-two to reach the ground as quickly as he could. 

“Something bit me,” Carol said. “Something stung me or…”

“Probably one of them bees,” Daryl said, gesturing toward one that he noticed, some distance away, that hadn’t yet run away.

If he had expected her reaction, he probably would have found something else to say. He would have lied. He would have suggested that literally any other creature under the sun bit her. He might have gone so far as to suggest that some animal—the likes of which they had never heard—could make itself invisible to come in for tiny knife-like attacks.

Anything—anything at all—that he could have said would have been better received than the information that she’d been stung by a bee.

And that was when Daryl realized he was dealing with an actual phobia. And, immediately, he realized that he wanted to keep her attack under wraps as much as possible because, no matter what, he didn’t want her being harassed or teased for something she couldn’t help—even if it was an over-the-top reaction to an irrational fear.

Carol practically dissolved over the thought of being stung by the bee. Daryl didn’t hesitate. He scooped her up, bridal style, and rushed up the porch steps with her as quickly as he could. He got her through the door. He ran with her through the house, and he practically dived into his bedroom—the closest that he could reach. He kicked the door closed behind him before laying her on the bed.

If she was going to melt down, he wanted her to have privacy in which to do so. 

“Hey—hey—it’s OK! OK? It’s OK. I got you,” Daryl assured Carol through her meltdown. 

“Get it out!” She yelled at him, half-screaming and half-begging. 

“I’ma get it out,” Daryl assured her. “You just gotta hold still. Let me see if it’s stuck in there.” 

She only screamed more at that thought.

“Shhhh,” Daryl hissed. “Shhhh…I’ma get it out…I’ma get it out. But you gotta relax. I can’t do nothin’ with you tensed up like this. Listen—I know you’re scared. But—you gotta trust me. OK? You gotta relax. Shit, Carol—I wouldn’t never hurt you on purpose, right? You know that. I wouldn’t let nothin’ else hurt you, either. This is just nature, but I’ma get it out.” 

She was calming a little. Her face was red and tear-streaked. Her eyes had the wild look of an injured animal, as most phobics did when face-to-face with a trigger for their phobia.

“Shhh…” Daryl offered again. “That’s it—relax. Let me see what I can do.” 

Carol let him push her pants leg up. The stinging bastard had slipped right up her pants leg and popped her on the calf. It was already starting to swell a little, and Daryl could see the stinger still embedded in her skin. Still, enough of it was out that he knew he could easily get it.

“Can you see it?” Carol asked.

“Shhhh,” Daryl hissed, hoping to keep her calm. “It’s OK. I’ma get it. I bet that shit hurts, don’t it?” 

“Yeah, it does,” Carol confirmed. She was remaining fairly calm, given her earlier hysterics, but Daryl could feel the tension in her body.

“That’s a big fucker…”

“I know, Daryl, it’s stuck in me! Get it out, please!” Carol whined. Daryl shushed her again. He gently petted her leg, almost feeling like he was trying to calm an animal. Of course, as Merle had often reminded him, humans were only animals themselves, and there were times, like these, when that was easier to remember.

Daryl pulled out his pocket knife and flicked the blade open. Any reasonable person, perhaps, would have panicked at that sight. Carol, however, seemed to relax at the sign that he was taking action against the offensive stinger. Phobias were something else. Daryl was almost certain that if he’d told her he was just going to cut a large circle around the stinger, and extract it that way, she would have accepted it with less fuss than she’d taken the sting.

Carefully, Daryl used the blade to catch the stinger and slide it out of her leg.

“Easy,” he crooned. “Be still. Easy…almost…I almost got it out, Carol.” He practically felt victorious when it came free. “I got it. It’s out—you feel better?” 

“Maybe,” Carol breathed out; her face still wet. 

“That shit’s big. You wanna see it?” 

“No, I don’t want to see it,” Carol said. “Is it OK?” 

Daryl looked at her leg. 

“It’s red. A little swole up, but it won’t kill you.”

“Are you sure it’s out? It still hurts.” 

“It’s out, but it’s gonna hurt for a little while. Here. I got an idea.” 

Daryl reached for a cigarette. He peeled back the paper, dumping the tobacco into his hand. He crushed it with his finger, breaking it apart, and spit several times into his hand to work up a great deal of moisture. He mixed it together and slathered the poultice onto Carol’s leg.

Carol sat up a bit more, but she didn’t dare to move her leg.

“What are you doing?” She asked. “Did you spit on it?” 

Daryl laughed to himself

“Trust me,” he said. “It’ll make it feel better. You just gotta stay here—just like this—for a little while. Give it a few minutes. It’ll feel better.” 

Carol was calmer. Her face was still a little red, but the tears had stopped actively flowing. It didn’t matter—red face, tears, snot, or even that ridiculous outfit—she was beautiful. Daryl felt his breath catch when he realized that he was staring at her, and she was staring back at him just as hard.

“Thank you,” she said. “You—saved my life.”

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I didn’t hardly do anything,” he said. “And I certainly didn’t save your life.” 

“You could have,” Carol said. “What if I was allergic, or something?” 

“If you’da been allergic, we’da figured it out sooner,” Daryl offered. “So—if that’s what you’re scared of, you can relax. Even if it happened again, you wouldn’t die. It wouldn’t be a big deal.” 

“I’d still hope you were there,” Carol offered. 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Me too,” he said. “Feelin’ better?” 

“It still hurts a little,” Carol said. “Maybe—if I had some distraction…”

“What do you think would help?” Daryl asked. 

The way she was looking at him, alone, had his pulse kicking up a notch and his breathing speeding up. She was looking at him softer than she ever had before. She was looking at his lips—he knew he wasn’t imagining it. Of course, he’d also looked at hers and, without really thinking about it, he’d leaned closer to her as she’d leaned closer to him.

“Do you want to kiss me?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper. He was close enough to her that he barely had to hum out his response before she brought their lips together. The kiss was everything that Daryl had been daydreaming about since the night they’d arrived at the CDC, and he’d had a bit too much drink, and allowed himself to think a bit too hard about the newly widowed woman with the beautiful eyes and the amazing smile that she shared with everyone as soon as a little wine and a safe place to sleep had lifted some of the weight of her life off her shoulders. He’d thought, that night, in the shower, while drinking whiskey and satisfying some of his baser needs, about how much he’d like to kiss her—among other things. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

The kiss didn’t disappoint, and Carol didn’t fight him when he moved in for more kisses—harder ones and deeper ones—and didn’t let up until he had to have a breath.

Her lips were red, and her pupils were wildly dilated, but otherwise she’d clearly calmed from her harrowing experience. 

“Feel better?” Daryl asked.

Carol nodded her head. Her cheeks blushed pink.

“I think that helped,” she said. “Do you—feel OK?” 

“I never felt better,” Daryl said. “You stay here. Just like this. I’ma go get somethin’ to clean that with.”

“OK,” Carol said. “You’re—coming back, aren’t you?” 

Daryl’s stomach twisted. He understood, immediately, what she was asking. He felt, in his gut, what she was feeling. 

“Don’t worry, I’m comin’ back,” he assured her. “Keep you company. You oughta stay here for a while anyway. Rest it. I’ll stay with you.” 

Carol smiled at him and, honestly, that was all the thanks he’d ever need for doing something that was really nothing. He thought, for a moment, that he ought to go out in the yard and find the little bee bastard that had stung her. He ought to give him a full military burial or something of the like. After all, if it hadn’t been for his buzzing, stinging little ass, Daryl didn’t know when he would have tasted one of her kisses—or how long it would have taken him to figure out how to get her reclining on his bed, waiting for his return.

As Daryl stepped out into the hallway, and pulled the door closed behind him, he noticed Glenn standing across the hall, arms crossed across his chest a little too tightly and a little too high. He looked awkward and uncomfortable. He looked like he might bolt if Daryl so much as stomped his foot on the floor.

“The hell you lookin’ at?” Daryl asked.

“Everything—alright in there?” Glenn asked. “There was a—lot of noise.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Nosy ass,” he said. “Go on—get outta here. Mind your damned business.”

Glenn didn’t quite bolt, but he did put a particular burst of speed behind his steps. Daryl laughed to himself and headed downstairs—his own steps a little faster than usual—to get what he needed to clean Carol’s wound. After all, he wanted to hurry up and get back to distract her a little more.


End file.
